His day was over and it was time to go home. The hairs on his neck stood up and the uncomfortable feeling settled over him like a shroud. They'd tried to kill a U.S. senator and the daughter of a U.S. senator. He was only a colonel, but he was under no illusion that they wouldn't snuff him, too.
He couldn't outrun them. Wyatt had eluded them for the past three weeks. He'd waltzed right through Pentagon Security, although he'd been made the moment he entered Jackson's office. Wyatt was more resourceful Sam was. He wouldn't last a day on the run. So, since he couldn't run, he'd have to do something else. He strapped his laptop over his shoulder and picked up his briefcase.
Parker adhered to the energy-saving notice on the wall above his light switch and turned off the ceiling lights. At this time of day the buses to the parking lot would be crowded. Since rain hit the ground in saucer size splashes, they would be packed as tight as sardines. Parker felt uneasy about boarding anything packed so tight. He could be stabbed and not even fall. He decided to walk to his car.
Checking over his shoulder, he opened the black regulation umbrella and started across the parking lot. He found his car easily, but wondered if it was bombed, too. The thought stopped him. While he worked, had some unseen person rigged his ignition with a bomb? He continued. He couldn't walk home from here. His raincoat was soaked when he reached the new Chrysler M. The car was only three months old and he'd hate to see it blown to bits. The explosion wouldn't do much for him, either.
Parker checked his memory as he came within range of the electronic security system. He pushed the button on the hand keypad, ready to turn and duck in the event of an explosion. Nothing happened. Few car bombers set bombs to explode as the doors were opened. The exploding impact could push the intended victim away and they'd only be hurt instead of killed. The preferable methods were to use the spark of ignition, have the car in motion and reach a certain speed, or when the brakes were applied after a certain speed. The car he'd loaned Wyatt had a simple timing mechanism. At a certain time it exploded. Gingerly he opened the door. A sigh of relief escaped him when nothing catastrophic happened. He inspected the drive shaft and the concealed wiring below for any sign of tampering. Everything appeared exactly as it should be. Standing back, he used his umbrella tip to push the electronic button that released the hood. The lock popped free. With the umbrella still in his hand, he repeated the gesture to open the trunk.
"Anything wrong?"
He jerked at the shouted question. Attack was on his mind. Only the briefcase and computer saved him from decking one of the secretaries.
"No, nothing is wrong."
She smiled warily and got into her car. Sam waited for her to leave. As soon as she was gone he checked the underside of the car. Finding nothing suspicious, he went to the back of the car.
Checking the trunk first, he opened it to its full height. Only the spare tire under the gray carpeting and his tools for changing a flat tire were present. He threw his briefcase and laptop carrying case inside and, after looking at the lock mechanism, reached to pull the trunk closed.
The thought of tires made him take the tire iron. He checked the tires. Nothing was out of the ordinary. Under the hood he found the same okay state. He breathed his relief and got inside. The engine roared to life at the turning of the key and then purred like a satisfied cat.
Pulling out of the parking space, Parker joined the queue of cars waiting to enter Route 1. Tonight he wouldn't be heading home. He had an entirely different destination in mind.
***
Sandra felt refreshed after her shower. Her eyes looked tired and she had dark circles under them, but she felt better. Annie had come in and taken her wet clothes. In their place were dry ones. Sandra pulled them on. It was a pair of black jeans and a gray sweater. She and Annie were both high-waisted and had long legs, but Annie's pants dragged past her shoes. She had to fold them up to keep from stepping on them. Staring at herself in the mist-frosted mirror, she remembered the two of them sharing clothes as teenagers. Annie had even left her a string of white pearls and matching posts-style earrings. Sandra smiled and draped them around her neck.
When Sandra returned to the living room the table had been laid with food. The flowers which had been in the center of the shining glass rectangle had been moved to the end and stood near a newspaper and a pile of envelopes. Sandra was suddenly famished. Wyatt came in moments after she arrived. He'd shaved. His face was clean and she saw the clear lines that defined his character. She had an overwhelming need to rush into his arms and pray the everything would be over soon and they could just hold on to each other for comfort and . . . love? Did she really want his love?
She didn't have time to decide. A noise behind them caused her to shift her attention. Wyatt stepped up and took her hand. It was a small gesture but one she needed, and she was grateful he'd heard her silent message.
Like her, Wyatt, also was wearing dry clothes. A baggy navy-blue sweater hung on his frame as if it had been worn for many years. Poking out of the collar was a white shirt. Jeans, matching hers in color, clad his long, muscular legs. They stopped at his ankles, but thick blue socks and black sneakers concealed their ill fit. If his face hadn't looked so haggard she would have noticed how handsome he was, but instead she understood that life running from one possible catastrophe to another was taking a toll on him. She wondered what she looked like to him. Annie had said she looked awful. Sandra knew she was just being hard-nosed Annie. She'd washed her hair and pulled it, still wet, into a ponytail. She wasn't wearing a speck of makeup, and Annie's pants felt like a second skin.
Annie, on the other hand, looked like the fashion model that she was. She had smiled from countless magazine covers, billboards, and television commercials around the world. Everything about her was perfect, from the white stand-up collar on her hip-length sweater its gold sequins catching the light and glittering. Long green pants tapered down her legs. Sandra didn't think she could feel any worse, but at the moment Wyatt smiled at her and her spirits lifted.
Seated at the table, Sandra recognized the man who'd called to Annie during their conversation on the steps of the Jefferson Memorial. He was dressed much the same as Wyatt and she knew the clothes Wyatt wore must be his.
"This is Jordon Ames, my photographer," Annie introduced him. "Jordon, my sister, Sandra, and you probably recognize Senator Randolph."
The two men shook hands. "Feel free to keep the clothes," Jordon said with a smile. He was the only person in the room who appeared relaxed.
They sat down and Sandra took a canned cola from the selection of beverages on the table. Popping the top, she poured herself a glass and drank half of it in one long swallow. Wyatt took the coffee Jordon offered. Sandra liked Jordon. He acted more the host than Annie did the hostess. She wondered if the question Annie had asked her about sleeping with Wyatt applied to Jordon and herself. She smiled slightly, hoping it did. The two sisters had been estranged for years, but Sandra felt Annie really needed to be understood. She also needed happiness in her life, and Jordon looked at her as if he'd like nothing better than to make her happy. Unfortunately, she didn't see the same gleam in her sister's eyes.
"Eat," Jordon said. He took the basket of rolls and passed it to Wyatt. Neither Wyatt nor Sandra waited for any additional encouragement. They devoured their medium-cooked steaks, baked potatoes, and mixed vegetables. She and Wyatt had been living off raw fruits and vegetables, grocery-store salad bars, and fast food.
Jordon observed the people in the room. One of his favorite occupations was people watching. Annie and Sandra were the back and front of a mirror, Annie dark, Sandra fair. He could see Sandra was logical and thoughtful, while her sister was impulsive and volatile. Both women had equally expressive eyes, which were the most naked part of their body. While Annie's were usually shaded, Sandra's were bright and alive despite the dark circles under them. Jordon wished he had his camera.
When he'd seen them together he was sure Annie
was the beautiful one, but today he found Sandra's looks compelling.
Her beauty was more classic, the kind that made a man look at her once but remember her long into the night.
He moved his attention to Wyatt Randolph. He could see it in his eyes. He wondered if the senator even knew how much the college professor had captivated him.
Again he wished for his camera. The diffused light from the rain-streaked sky would give Sandra's no-makeup and no-hairstyle features a softer edge. He also wanted the beauty of both the sisters, side by side, captured on film so he could study it and see why Annie had the power to make his blood boil, yet her mirrored opposite sister possessed the more commanding beauty.
"Jeff's dead," Sandra said flatly.
"Jeff Taylor?" Annie's reaction was exactly what Sandra had expected it would be. Shock registered on her face before it turned to horror. Sandra didn't understand it, but Jeff was a friend to both of them. Usually Annie detested her friends, but in Jeff's case she'd made an exception. Annie's face went ashen. Sandra wanted to go to her but knew better. This was the most she'd seen of her sister since before John died. If she made a wrong move or an off-handed comment she knew Annie would explode.
"He was helping us," Wyatt continued, his voice low and compassionate. "We'd agreed to meet this morning. When we got there," he paused. "We were too late."
"Annie, we couldn't call the police." She stopped, remembering Jeff's labored speech and the blood all around him. She squeezed her eyelids shut trying to blot out the image. After a few seconds she opened them. "Someone needs to go there and. . .see to things."
"I'll do it," she agreed readily.
Sandra gave her the Hawaii Avenue address and Annie wrote it on a napkin.
"What are your plans now?" Jordon asked. "You can't keep running." He glanced at the newspaper next to the pile of envelopes that looked like invitations. "From the looks of things, you're not going to make it much longer."
Wyatt stared at the two of them. He'd never seen Jordon or Sandra's sister before today and his natural instinct was not to trust anyone. Jordon was right. At the rate they were going, there would be nowhere to run by the end of the week. They had the files on Project Eagle, but no way of deciphering them. They no longer had the stones, just a cryptic message given to them by a dying man that was as encoded as the computer files.
Now he sat with two more people who wanted to know what they were up to. Wyatt wasn't about to tell them.
"To keep you safe," he said. "It's better if we don't tell you anything."
Jordon looked from one face to the other. Then nodded.
"Everyone we've told is either dead or being hunted. I don’t think it's wise to add anyone else to the list."
"Then what are you going to do?"
Wyatt waited again. He needed to find Sam Parker so he could wring his neck. He needed to find the stones. And more important he needed to find out what was on the computer files.
"I'm not sure." Wyatt looked at Sandra. Her eyes were tired and scared. She needed more rest. He wanted to leave her behind, know she was in safe hands, but he didn't think there was anyplace that was really safe for her now. Guilt settled over him. Why hadn't he learned whether the senator was actually at the cabin before he'd started for it? She'd be safely studying for her oral exam and he'd. . .He stopped the thought. He'd be dead. He'd have bled to death in that alley or some such other place, but Sandra would not be part of his life and she'd be safe.
Suzanne got up and went to the end table next to the over-stuffed sofa. She pulled a drawer open and extracted an envelope. Coming back to the table, she dropped it in front of her sister. Sandra didn't move to pick it up.
"What's that?" Jordon asked before Wyatt had the chance.
"Money," Suzanne said. Wyatt had the feeling it was a trump card, and she'd waited for the precise moment to play it. “A lot of money. Enough to get the two of you out of the country until this thing blows over."
"This isn't going to blow over, Annie," Sandra charged. "People are trying to kill us. Wyatt's been stabbed. Men tried to shoot down Starfighter. The police are chasing us all over the District. Jeff's dead and Dad is somehow mixed up in this.” She took a long breath. Tiredness pulled her emotions close to the surface. She tamped them down. “We're not talking about a traffic ticket here. We're talking about national security, and if we don't find out what the hell's going on, Wyatt and I won't live out the week."
She kicked the chair back and stood up. Several feet from the table she turned away, her shoulders shaking with grief. Wyatt put his hands on her arms and turned her around. He wrapped her in his embrace and held her close.
He never felt so helpless as he did allowing her to cry against his shoulder. Just as he'd done during the night, he let her lay against him until her trembling stopped.
"We'd better go now," Wyatt said when he turned back to Suzanne and Jordon. They were standing near them, but with sufficient distance as to feel inadequate and helpless, too. "Thank you for the food and the clothes, but it's best if we don't stay in one place too long."
"You can't take her out like this," Jordon said. "She's dead on her feet. Why don't the two of you go to my suite and rest. You can leave later, maybe after dark."
Wyatt weighed the proposition. He looked at Sandra. Slumped against him, she looked small and tired. She did need the rest, but he decided against it. Anyone who knew them, knew their families, and if they were looking for Sandra they might think she'd seek her sister out. Wyatt was surprised to find the two women had already been in contact with each other.
They needed money. He'd used all the cash he had in the last few days. How they could continue to survive without creating a traceable credit card trail had been on his mind. Obviously, it had been on Sandra's, too, since she'd approached her sister for cash.
"Thank you, but I think we'd better go."
At that moment someone knocked on the door. Sandra pressed herself closer to Wyatt.
"It’s only the bellman," Suzanne said. "He's returning your clothes."
Jordon went to the door and accepted the laundry, signing the receipt but not allowing the man to enter the suite.
"Sandra, what did you mean when you said Dad is involved?" Annie asked when Jordon returned, laying the cellophane-covered clothes over the back of a nearby chair.
By mutual consent the four of them moved to sit on the facing sofas. Wyatt had his arm around Sandra on one sofa, while Annie and Jordon sat close but separated on the facing seat.
"I'm not sure." She felt the warning pressure of Wyatt's hand on her shoulder. "I talked to him yesterday." A tremor ran through her. She was sure Wyatt felt it. "He was . . . different." Sandra didn't want to tell Annie about their father. She knew about the feud between them and she didn't want to add fuel to the fire.
"How . . . different?"
"Annie, I won't give you ammunition to use against him."
"I'm not asking for ammunition. I don't even talk to the man." Her voice was high-handed as if discussing the man who'd taken her into his home and loved her as his daughter was distasteful.
"When I've had time to talk to him and find out the truth, I might be willing to tell you everything, but I really think the two of you should work out whatever differences you have."
Annie closed up like a vault. Sandra knew if they talked the rest of the night nothing more would be said. She was glad for once. For the first time in years, she didn't want to talk about their father. She had doubts. Had Wyatt done this to her? Had yesterday really meant anything or had she written more into it than was there?
She wanted to talk to her father, wanted to ask him why strangers with guns had shown up at the motel, why he hadn't called her as promised, and was he really involved in Project Eagle.
"Annie, why don't you have her call the man you introduced me to the other evening?"
"Lance?" Suzanne's voice interrupted her thoughts.
"Who?" She hadn’t heard her sister.
She had been concerned about her father.
"You remember Lance Desque." She eyed Wyatt. "You must know him, too. I saw him a few days ago."
"Of course I remember Lance," Sandra said.
Wyatt nodded. "I've met him once or twice."
"I'm sure he knows as much if not more about defense as the joint chiefs."
Lance might not be a bad idea. Sandra wondered why she hadn't thought of him before. He'd worked with her father. If there was a way to get at the truth and she couldn't reach Bradford Rutledge, then Lance Desque was the next best thing.
"I can call him. Does he still work in the Pentagon?"
"Why don't you have lunch with him?" Jordon suggested. He looked at Suzanne then back to Sandra. "He invited Annie to lunch. Why don't you go in her place? He won't expect you, so you'll be relatively safe."
Sandra gazed at her sister who was staring at Jordon as if he'd grown an extra head.
"That might not be a good idea," Wyatt interjected. "An open restaurant is much too public a place. People we don't even know could recognize us and call the police."
"Well, Annie can't make it anyway. We have to shoot tomorrow since we lost today."
Annie still hadn't said anything. Sandra's state of shock wasn't paralyzing enough to miss the jealousy in Jordon's comments. He didn't want Annie to have lunch with Lance. Finding a substitute would solve both their problems.
"We'll have to think about it," Sandra said. "I will call him and find out if he can help us."
"If you decide to go, it's The Charter Club at one." Jordon gave the information.
"We'd better go," Wyatt said. They all stood. Wyatt pulled their coats from the plastic covering. Sandra was grateful they were dry. She looked through the windows and found the rain had stopped.
Under the Sheets (Capitol Chronicles Book 1) Page 48